by David Barry
They rushed down the metal staircase and entered the cavernous cellar. Stacked along a workbench were two ladders. Eagan had previously appropriated some copper wire and they hurriedly wired the two ladders together. Taking an end each of the ladder, they made their way back to the dining hall. There was just one more major steel door get through and then they would be out in the yard.
Bill knelt down and inserted the pick into the lock, delicately, with the sensitivity of a considerate lover.
Please, please, let this one go smoothly. Not much time left. A minute or two at most, then the guards’ll be back to do their rounds again. Don’t even think about it. Concentrate. Concentrate.
The rivulets of sweat poured effusively from Bill’s armpits, backside, shoulders, and forehead, and immediately dried cold as fear took hold. ‘Jesus Christ!’ he heard Eagan exclaim as the terror of being stuck in the dining hall confronted him. They knew that if they were caught, they faced a year - maybe longer - in the isolation block.
Come on! Concentrate. Take it easy. Don’t rush it. Become the lock. Get inside it.
A small pressure as the tumbler moved fractionally.
Go with it. Relax. It wants to open. It has to open. It must.
Click!
‘We made it,’ Bill whispered.
Eagan patted him on the shoulder, then walked quickly to the back end of the ladders. They both lifted the ladders and Bill pushed open the heavy steel door. It was a dark night, no moonlight, and they knew if they ran under the shadow of the walls they might be in with a chance. They had only one open yard to cross before reaching the high wall but they needed an element of luck now. Because the prison authorities and guards considered the new high wall to be impregnable, and the new cell block to be escape proof, the area was given scant attention. But it only needed one guard in the watchtower to see something moving down below, then the searchlight would pick them up, and they would be lucky if they didn’t die in a hail of tommy-gun bullets.
Bill and Eagan came to the corner of the building. Bill looked up at the watchtower. It was too dark to see anything very much; he thought he could see the outline of a guard and waited a brief moment. It was so dark, he hadn’t a clue whether the guard had his back to the yard or was facing it. If he couldn’t tell, Bill decided, it might work in their favor. The dark could give them the cover they needed.
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Let’s go. ‘
They ran the twenty yards or so across the yard, expecting at any moment a searchlight to pick them up, followed by a screaming siren. But all remained silent and dark as they raised the ladder against the wall. Eagan scrambled up first, followed closely behind by Bill. The ladder ended four foot from the top of the wall and they were both able to pull themselves up.
The worst part of their escape now was the long drop on the other side of the wall. They both knew they might suffer a serious sprain or break an ankle. But what the hell! Bones would heal in months, and what was that compared with a lifetime of rotting away in a small cell.
Eagan hung for a moment from his hands, then pushed himself outwards from the wall. Bill did the same. As he landed he bent at the knees as the ground flew up to meet him forcefully, and he felt his body jarring, as if his spine was being wrenched in two. He rolled over onto his side and lay still for a moment. He stretched his ankles out. Although one of them pained him, it didn’t seem too severe, so there didn’t seem to be a break or a sprain. Eagan was already on his feet as Bill struggled to stand up.
‘How are the ankles, Johnny?’ Bill asked.
‘Bit painful, but nothing worse than a shock. ‘
‘Right let’s find that Buick,’ said Bill.
They found the Buick parked on a hill running from Ossining towards the penitentiary. The door was open and the key was in the ignition. Their contact had done the right thing: a parked car never arouses suspicions as long as no one is behind the wheel.
Bill jumped into the driver’s seat and turned the ignition. It spluttered and died. Although it was pitch black, from the corner of his eye he sensed Eagan’s anxious expression and heard him coughing nervously. He turned the ignition key again and this time it caught; the engine roaring into life as he pressed the accelerator. Bill grinned at Eagan.
‘Right,’ he said. ‘Let’s head for New York City. ‘
The address they’d been given was on the Upper West Side. It was an unobtrusive and somewhat dingy basement apartment, but at least it was somewhere safe to hide out until the dust settled. Bill tried the door to the apartment and it opened. A smell of damp hung in the air like a wet towel, and a sharp odor of decay greeted them with a sense of despair. Bill fumbled for a light switch in the darkness, his hand running along the uneven, crumbling plaster walls. He found the switch and clicked it on, but nothing happened. Gradually Bill’s eyes adjusted to the darkness of the dingy hallway, and he saw a razor thin beam of light glowing from under a door at the far end of the hall.
‘Come on,’ he whispered. ‘Let’s see if we’ve got a welcoming committee. ‘
The dust tickled Eagan’s nostril’s and he sneezed violently as Bill pushed the door open.
‘Bless you!’ John Doyle said from where he sat sprawled in a decaying armchair, a glass of bourbon in his hand. As they entered, Bill noticed the hungry look that came into Eagan’s eyes when he spotted the bourbon bottle by Doyle’s foot.
Doyle rose and shook both their hands. He was an angular looking man, as if his features had been sculpted. His nose was sharp, and he had sea-green eyes and badly receding salt and pepper hair, and as he smiled his mouth glittered with several gold teeth. His body was lean and trim like a dancer’s and he was wearing a tuxedo with a carnation in the buttonhole.
‘You made it bang on time,’ he said.
‘We cut across the state and came down the east side,’ Bill said.
‘Smart move,’ Doyle agreed. ‘Though I expect they’re still searching the woods around Sing Sing. ‘
Bill gave Doyle an impish grin. ‘We were probably halfway across the state before they noticed we’d gone. ‘
Doyle nodded, then shrugged apologetically, and gestured at the surroundings. ‘Best I could do. Still, I guess it’s only temporary. ‘
Figuring he ought to contribute to the conversation, Eagan said, ‘Thanks for providing the car. Without it, we’d never have made it. ‘
Doyle smiled thinly at Eagan. The smile lacked warmth and Bill observed that Doyle’s green eyes were cold as marble, and he knew the friendly, outgoing chap in a tuxedo was as phony as bootlegged Scotch whisky. He sensed that Doyle was cast in the same mould as Dutch Schultz, and there was a violent streak that lurked beneath the affable disguise, a nastiness that had grown over the years and left its indelible mark on the gangster’s reptilian features.
‘Ah yes, the Buick,’ Doyle said slowly. ‘Any idea how you might pay for it?’
‘Don’t worry,’ Bill assured him. ‘You’ll get your money. ‘
Doyle sniffed loudly and his mouth took on a pinched look, as if he doubted Bill’s word. ‘That’s ten grand for the car, five grand for this fleapit, and three hundred percent interest on your pocket money. ‘
Doyle fumbled in his breast pocket and removed his pocket book. He rifled through a wad of money then handed it to Bill.
‘That’s two grand. That’ll be another five you owe. ‘
Eagan gave a low whistle. ‘That’s twenty grand. ‘ he said. ‘Rich pickings for a car and apartment. ‘
Doyle looked sharply round at Eagan. ‘You have a problem with that?’
Eagan’s face colored. ‘Hell, no! N-no,’ he stammered. ‘I was just saying-’
‘Okay. ‘ Doyle snapped, suddenly brisk and business-like. ‘I won’t keep you gentlemen. There’s no rush to deliver, but I’ll give you, say, three months. You should be
able to pull something off during that time. ‘
‘Don’t worry, Mr. Doyle,’ said Bill. ‘You’ll get your money.
Doyle turned at the door, his face expressionless. ‘Oh, I’ll get my money all right. I always do. ‘
They waited until they heard the main door slam. Eagan, who realised he had been tensely holding his breath, exhaled loudly.
‘Jesus Christ!’ he exclaimed. ‘What a dump. ‘
Bill cast his eyes around the room. Wallpaper was green in places where the damp had turned to mildew and the threadbare carpet was pitted with burns and cigarette butts. The room was pathetically furnished with junk, everything broken and dilapidated. And the only warmth came from a small electric fire, one bar giving off a tiny glow and not much heat.
Bill breathed in the dank air and nodded thoughtfully. ‘Don’t worry, Johnny,’ he said, ‘we’ll soon knock off a bank and then we’ll be back on the East Side again. In clover. ‘
Johnny grinned and looked down at the bottle of bourbon. ‘Things are looking up already. ‘
Bill bent over and grabbed the bottle before Johnny did. It was only a quarter full, and that amount wouldn’t seriously affect a drinker like Eagan, but he wasn’t taking any chances.
‘No liquor before work, Johnny. You promised. ‘
A childlike whine came into Eagan’s tone. ‘Aw, Bill, just a little celebration. Whatdaya say?’
Bill opened the door of the kitchenette, his knuckles white as he clutched the bottle tightly, in case Eagan tried to grab it.
‘I say this goes down into the sewers where it belongs,’ said Bill. He saw that Eagan was about to protest, and added, ‘Once we’ve done a job, Johnny, you can hop off to Mexico and get drunk on the proceeds. Drink until it comes out of your ears for all I care. But not before we do a job. ‘
Eagan looked contrite, like a young boy. ‘You got me all wrong, Bill. I promise. You got me all wrong. ‘
Bill smiled grimly. ‘I hope so, Johnny. I hope so. ‘ Then he went into the kitchenette and poured the remains of the bourbon into the filthy kitchen sink.
Chapter Ten
December, 1932
He checked his watch. It was almost 6. 45. It would take him at least another hour to break into the safe, and the security guard was due to arrive at eight. And Eagan would have the car waiting outside in fifteen minutes time. He needed to tell him to go away and come back at 7. 45. He didn’t want him parked outside the bank for over an hour, where he might arouse the suspicions of a passing cop. But Bill had picked this bank because of its location. A small Brooklyn bank, it was on the corner of an alley, and just the other side of the alley was the Keith Theatre. If a cop did happen to ask Eagan why he was loitering outside, they had a story ready that he was waiting to pick up an electrician after having worked an all-nighter at the theatre.
He knew he’d be cutting it fine, allowing only fifteen minutes before the arrival of the security guard. But the reason he was behind was because of the ceiling bars, which he hadn’t anticipated. He realized it was dumb of him. He should have guessed that the bank would reinforce their ceiling. The bank was below a small shopping mall on the second floor, and at closing time on the previous evening, he had concealed himself in the gents’ toilet. He had then broken into a clothing store, and dug up the floor to get to the bank below. That was when he discovered the ceiling was reinforced with steel bars, and it took him an hour to saw through them. Once he had dropped into the bank below, he had disabled the alarm and sawn through the bars of the side window facing the Stage Door entrance of the Keith Theatre in the side alley. So far, so good. But now he was an hour behind and he needed to warn Eagan. .
Making certain the Stage Door opposite was shut, he raised the bank window and dropped into the alley below. He walked briskly to the main street and looked for Eagan’s car. He was driving a six year old Model T Ford because - not only had it been cheap to purchase - it was also quite commonplace. In fact there were several Model Ts parked along the street. But not Eagan’s. He should have been here by now. Bill checked his watch again. It was 6. 48. He’d risk loitering for another couple of minutes, but no longer. He needed Eagan. Without him, there was no way of escaping with the money. The helpless, impotent feeling caused him to shake inside and he became angered by Eagan’s absence. All along he had doubts about his accomplice’s reliability, and now he was being proved right. On the other hand, supposing Johnny had run into some sort of trouble. After all, his picture had been in the papers; he was a wanted man on the run. Maybe he’d been spotted and apprehended. Or perhaps it was nothing more than a simple explanation, like the car not starting. As he stood on the sidewalk, blowing hot air into his leather gloves, and shivering from the early morning cold, he felt depressed. He’d been so close to breaking into that safe. But if his partner didn’t show up. . .
Bill felt another surge of anger. A voice nagged away in his brain, telling him how unreliable Johnny was. On the other hand, Bill reminded himself, had it not been for Johnny Eagan, he wouldn’t now be a free man. Positive and negative thoughts of his accomplice bounced back and forth as he stood on the edge of the sidewalk, craning his neck hopefully, praying that Eagan was delayed due to some minor reason. But as he waited, and had to confront the disappointment which bit into him, he began to despair. He’d been so close to getting a good haul from this small bank. They could have paid off Doyle, and maybe still had plenty to tide them over for a while.
In the distance, about five hundred yards along the street, he saw a blue uniform darting in and out of the shadows. A cop. There was a lightness in his gait, and he was swinging his nightstick jauntily. Probably ending his nightshift, Bill guessed, on his way back to the station. But he was coming Bill’s way, getting closer and closer. Pretty soon he’d arouse the cop’s suspicions. He glanced at his watch once more. It was 6. 55. Eagan was a good ten minutes late and it didn’t look as if he was going to show. Bill turned and headed for the nearest subway, his anger against Johnny rising and falling as he considered all the possible reasons for his non-appearance.
When he got back to their apartment, Bill stood in the shadows for a long while watching the building, just in case his partner had been apprehended, worked over and had told the police everything. After ten minutes - a long ten minutes that had him shivering from the cold - as far as he could tell, everything seemed to be normal. There was nothing to arouse his suspicions. The street was waking up. People were setting off for work, their reluctance for the daily grind showing in their demeanors. Bill decided he’d risk entering the apartment. As he stepped out of the shadows and began crossing the street, a warning bell rang as a man on a bicycle raced towards him, a canvas lunch bag strapped across his chest. The normality of the street gave Bill the reassurance he needed and he gave the cyclist a friendly wave as he walked towards the apartment. As soon as he entered he heard a rumbling noise coming from the living room, and right away he knew what had happened. He knew he’d been right not to trust Eagan. He opened the door, just to make certain, and sure enough, there was his partner, fully clothed on the sofa, snoring loudly, an empty rum bottle held against his breast like a comfort blanket.
‘So long, Johnny,’ Bill muttered. He went into the bedroom, grabbed his small suitcase, shoved the few clothes he owned into it, and left the building. He had split Doyle’s $2,000 with Johnny, and he now had only $700 left; but if he acted prudently, it was enough to last until he could pull off a few small burglaries to pay Doyle what he owed. Then he would see about planning a major bank robbery. But for now, he needed to get himself a decent apartment and tell Johnny Eagan that he was dissolving their partnership. He knew that when Johnny came round and realized what had happened, he’d be full of abject apologies. He would have that alcoholic’s optimism, the unrealistic expectations of being forgiven, truly believing it was a temporary fall from grace and in future things would be different.
Well to hell with that! Bill was not taking any more risks. Eagan was dangerous on two counts. Not only did the booze make him unreliable, but there was also the female company he kept. He was having an affair with Frank Costello’s mistress. Costello was one of the deadliest of New York gangsters, whose associates included Meyer Lansky, Charlie Luciano and Bugsy Siegel. Johnny was playing with fire and this made Bill even more determined to sever their relationship. After all, without his lock-picking expertise, Johnny would still be serving time. Bill didn’t owe him a thing. They were even.
Bill knew Johnny had a date to meet Costello’s girl at a speakeasy that evening. After he’d found himself a room in the Bronx, passing himself off as a traveling salesman, he set off for the Garment District of Manhattan, intent on finding Johnny and giving him the bad news.
It was a terrible evening. Heavy rain lashed against the sidewalks as if New York was in a monsoon season. But the stinging coldness that came with the rain scotched any thoughts of tropical rainstorms. Bill knew it was useless to use an umbrella as he passed people battling with their umbrellas turned inside out against the harsh wind, their spokes mangled beyond repair. By the time he reached the speakeasy, he was soaked through to his underwear, and rain cascaded off the brim of his hat and ran down his back. He shivered hugely as he entered.
The speakeasy was hardly swinging. It was more like a funeral parlor. The music was turned low and the atmosphere was somber. A bartender absently flicked the pages of a tabloid and barely looked up as Bill entered. The only customers present were Johnny and Frank Costello’s girl. If the rain had deterred most of this speakeasy’s customers, Bill reflected grimly, it hadn’t stopped Johnny, whose face was flushed from alcohol and his eyes were glassy. The couple were so wrapped up in each other, they didn’t notice Bill’s entrance, and the girl giggled as Johnny leaned close to her and said something suggestive. As Bill stood over their table, Johnny looked up. It seemed to take a moment for him to register who it was, then he cracked a smile.